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Dear Beloved!

Where from shall I start? Wait, let me first ease myself. It has been my fantasy since long now, to write a love letter because for now it is an obsolete thing to do. I do believe that someday one of my colony pigeons, white in colour with a ruby bracelet in the neck, will learn how to cover a distance between us, but for now we have to bear to settle without that.

Evenings for me have always been blissful and mystic, but that Saturday when you were sitting just next to me it happened to redefine the meaning of romance. Your presence was sharp, clean like a new born baby tempting me to touch you, hold you and let you be familiar to me, but I was too scared of hurting your soft gesture. As the colours of the blaze were setting, I kept watching them as they were reflecting through your stillness. They kept glowing your skin a bit more than that of the autumn struck Chinar leaf, O’ You beauty! You pause me every time I check on you.

Recall, the shiver that did pass around through your strong self. Well! That alertness happened to give me goose bumps. While the cold currents of the wind did touch your rough skin and you got engaged in settling yourself I was busy watching the warmness of you dropping like the droplets of the rain skidding my window pane. Low at noise and much of an elegance.

Remember, the bonfire we lit? Did you notice how the colours of the sky did compliment the fire? The flames were racing into the sky and the smoke was forming patterns like newlywed couples meeting first time in each other’s eyes. An excitement of the stars was clearly visible by the way they were twinkling as the darkness was getting richer with an each passing instant. How shall I define such moment and crypt my words for you to interpret the significance of our being? Meanwhile, I forgot to ask you, were you in certain competition with the moon or it was just another face of you?

Writing to you won’t mature my words to a level of your charm and attitude. Hence, to understand you a bit more I yesterday asked my friend to come with me to see you. She brushed off my meeting by stating, “Let not your affair be public” [followed by a smile]. I paused, didn’t reply, but back in my mind, I was thinking that every day you are being kissed by many and praised by countless then how shall my love be a secrecy? O’ Dear Nature when will you reply?

Love!
(Since ages)
Amreen Naqash!

~A.N

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Navigation between pages has always been one of my preferred topics and same was true for today. Nevertheless, for a person like me it was today not a favourite, but one disheartening thing to do. I somehow slipped up on a video shared by certain page which was linked up to a recent incident that took place at Kaaw Mohalla, Khanyar on the eve of Eid-UL-Zuha. One unfortunate incident which too will drop dead in the law books against a thirst for justice and ultimately will result in one futile exercise of hope.

Well, a point here is that what make me write today after a long pause about such incident? I have already written numerous articles about the society’s evils and this too is no exception to them. So, for today what is it that made me once again pour my agony in these scripted lines. It is nothing except the “False show of humanity” that irked me of that video. The journalist is asking a lady who has lost her daughter in one of the heart scissoring incidents, “Tueh paeyth kya chuw mouj waeynken baitaan? (Mother, what is right now happening to you?) , Tueh kya chuw gasaan weayn kenas? (What is happening to you right now?), Tueh kya chuw basaan? (What do you feel about it?) and so on. Come on, Mr. Journalist first you call her mother then you ask her about how she feels of an incident of losing a daughter to the flames of inhumane society? How will you feel when, God forbid, your sister/female parent/daughter will ash down to dust and someone will build a story on how you feel right now about it? Even in a wildest of an imagination of such tragedy will send shivers down the spine. What sort of journalism is this? Disgusting! This is no new narrative, no new crime, ample number of such crimes take place each day, each hour, each second. Forget about getting a space in local dailies they don’t even get a person to mourn. They rest like never existing creatures in the earth full of sorrow.

Hah! This video actually played so bad that I found no better option other than stopping it there and the first 17 seconds have frozen in me. They are pain to watch. Doubtless, this video must have been made to show inhumanity, but while brings down the curtains of shame the discipline of journalism lost its own to “Fake sympathy”.

Offense is constantly clear. It is we who have blindfolded the eyes, it is we who feed it, it is we who actually nourish it and it is we who finally complain about it. It is the S.O.C.I.E.T.Y… even words don’t suit to be merged. Such tragedy!

Let me ask you a few simple questions,

How many times you have uttered when something improper is going on, even in your family or in the neighbourhood or in area around?

Have you ever done anything apart from being a mute spectator? Or being a person who watches and discusses do’s and do not’s at back?

In case you have done your bit, how well your family has supported it?

How many times you have reported wrong? Ever? Or just never?

There are so many questions and so less of an expectance of any right. Change is not one day march that we will shout and the next day it will be served. It is a struggle. It is a freedom from doomed ideology. It is a fire to orthodox ideas, cultural burdens, and above all the light into a deep lesion. To get it, we need to starve for it, else this article is only a burden to trash. In simpler words it is not about “who, when and how will save the girl”, instead it is all about “I will save the girl”.